


synonyms for lust

by theycallmeDernhelm (onyourleft084)



Series: and after all this time/i’m still into you [35]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Desk Sex, M/M, They Both Have a Responsible Sense of Time Management, Undercover, apple symbolism, ineffable teachers, lunch break smut, quick write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:20:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26960548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onyourleft084/pseuds/theycallmeDernhelm
Summary: Aziraphale never really could cope with the way Crowley looked at him sometimes; like right now, in a way that seemed like he adored Aziraphale too much to want to touch him, but also as if he was contemplating devouring the angel in a single bite. It made Aziraphale feel wanted, and it made him feel beautiful. It made him feel naughty.He checked his watch.He decided he could be a little bit naughty. As a treat.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: and after all this time/i’m still into you [35]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1515578
Comments: 12
Kudos: 120
Collections: Top Aziraphale Recs





	synonyms for lust

**Author's Note:**

> Well...I’m back! This is my first new fic in about 3 months...and it HAD to be ineffable teachers smut 😭 comments and kudos appreciated as always

The sound of the lunch bell pealed insistently as Crowley sauntered down the hall to the classroom at the far end, past groups of students in their uniforms and a few teachers who acknowledged Crowley with a collegial nod. Crowley nodded in response, his expression neutral behind dark glasses, and continued on. He wanted to be right on time when Aziraphale dismissed his class.

Gone were the days of masquerading as nanny and gardener at the Dowlings’ estate. Aziraphale and Crowley now followed the boy Warlock to primary school, where they had to put on entirely new identities and entirely new looks. Mr. Harrison, History teacher, whose rare eye condition made him sensitive to light and required sunglasses even indoors. Mr. Cortese, English teacher, who was always suspiciously around to break up a fight whenever it happened. The two taught in separate classrooms on opposite ends of a single wing of the school building, a coincidental mockery of the opposite sides they were both on. It was maddening, working so close and yet so far with Aziraphale, especially when he now looked...like that.

The door was open when Crowley arrived, and students were swarming out, eager to get to lunch. He caught sight of him then, his angel, all buttoned up and very smart-looking in his dove-grey checked suit and soft white beard. Aziraphale had learned to be very proud of his beard, once he’d miracled it to his liking. It was very much to Crowley’s liking, too. Crowley noticed the round red fruit sitting on his desk nearby. An apple. Oh, of course, Crowley thought with a little grin; fruit of knowledge, and all. It was a present. And as the boys swarmed past, Crowley had no doubt as to who it was from.

Crowley could pick out, just in the crowd, the young boy with now chin-length dark hair surrounded by a gaggle of friends. While the other youngsters merely acknowledged Crowley, Warlock waved and eagerly piped up, “Hi, Mr. Harrison!”

“Good afternoon, Warlock,” was all Crowley said. He waited for the classroom to empty, watching the little Antichrist go (rumours flew round that Warlock was the history teacher’s pet, allowing him to get away with astonishingly mischievous behaviour, but Crowley did nothing to quell them.) Then, at last, following his nose, he swung into the classroom.

Aziraphale’s face lit up when he noticed him. “Cro- Ah. Mr. Harrison!”

“Hullo, Mr. Cortese,” Crowley replied. He nodded at the apple on the desk. “See you’ve gotten a little gift. ”

“Oh, that? Yes,” chuckled Aziraphale, “Warlock has brought some of the more charming Americanisms to class. They quite typically take apples to teachers there.” He glanced at Crowley, “Brings you back, doesn’t it?”

“Sure does.” 

Aziraphale never really could cope with the way Crowley looked at him sometimes; like right now, in a way that seemed like he adored Aziraphale too much to want to touch him, but also as if he was contemplating devouring the angel in a single bite. It made Aziraphale feel wanted, and it made him feel beautiful. It made him feel _naughty_.

He checked his watch.

He decided he could be a little bit naughty. As a treat.

Aziraphale turned to Crowley. “When’s your next class?” 

“Not till two. Yours?”

He tutted, “Immediately after lunch.”

“Not too bad. Still a whole hour.”

“Technically not,” Aziraphale interjected. “I always come in exactly fifteen to twenty minutes before my classes to set up. Still getting the hang of the projector.” 

“Hmm. So that’s...” Crowley tried to calculate it in his head. Thank Someone he wasn’t the maths teacher.

He was altogether too adorable, but Aziraphale couldn’t help but finish. “Forty-five minutes, dear.”

“Yes. Forty-five minutes.” Crowley sidled a fraction of an inch closer, a fraction closer still. As if he didn’t think Aziraphale would notice. Aziraphale noticed, of course. He was always watching Crowley. “Enough time to make a leisurely stroll through the halls and look for a fight to casually break up. Or pick up a book at the library. Or have a cup of tea in the teacher’s lounge.” Glittering, sharp yellow eyes peered at the angel over the rims of dark glasses. “You could do anything you like. And I do mean...anything.”

Aziraphale’s gaze drifted over Crowley’s entire body as it sidled right up close to him. He took in those gleaming shoes, the flash of dark red socks beneath the hem of not-quite-long-enough trousers, the catch of his belt and slate-grey shirt around a slender waist, the elegant and scholarly curve of lapels and jacket-tails. A tie, knotted by the hands of a demon knowing it would eventually be undone by an angel. A sinfully red, warm mouth that had drawn far too close while Aziraphale had been watching him.

“I can think of a few things,” was all Aziraphale said, coyly.

Crowley pressed even closer. “So can I.”

“Why, Mr. Harrison,” Aziraphale purred in his teacher’s voice, a steady-half octave lower than his usual one. But his hands were already sliding up Crowley’s forearms.

Crowley lifted one eyebrow over the edge of his sunglasses, and that simple action made Aziraphale’s cock twitch already. “You aren’t, by any chance, thinking of anything _inappropriate_ , are you, Mr. Cortese?”

Aziraphale clicked his tongue softly. “I was worried one might call my thoughts more...unprofessional, but your word seems more accurate. After all, aren’t I by now a _professional_ when it comes to you?”

Crowley grimaced. “Don’t think that had quite the effect you thought it would, Angel.”

“Oh, that was rather clunky, wasn’t it?” Aziraphale admitted in his natural voice.

“Don’t care.”

Their lips did not meet, so much as collided, gleefully abandoning the careful and delectable layer of tension they’d built between them, cutting through the thick of it like a knife through butter. After a long week of teaching, Aziraphale revelled, mind reeling, in the sensation of Crowley’s mouth all over his, the abrasion of the beard he’d grown for the disguise against Aziraphale’s own,the slickness of his tongue. They both tasted like coffee, and they both smelled like the furniture in the teachers’ lounge, and they both had chalk dust still on their fingers, and Crowley left a trace of it on Aziraphale’s cheek when he reached up to cup the angel’s face, prising his jaw open to kiss even deeper.

“You forgot—“ Aziraphale blurted out.

“Right.” Crowley snapped his fingers and the classroom door latched shut, locked. Chalk-stained fingers moved down to grip Aziraphale’s round hips and push him further out of sight, in case someone felt like they had to look through the little window in the door. He backed Aziraphale up against a bookshelf.

“No,” Aziraphale growled in his ear. “On the desk. Now.”

“Me or you?” was all Crowley could stutter. Mighty demon he was, bossed around by a soft angel who could be dominant when he felt like it.

“My dear, ridiculous boy. You, of course.” He nibbled, no, practically gnawed at the skin between Crowley’s jawbone and neck. “My classroom. My rules.”

Crowley practically writhed with delight. “Mr. Cortese, I never took you for such a- a- “

“A what?”

“Devious, greedy old—“ Crowley threw his head back as Aziraphale hoisted him up, thick fingers digging into the underside of his thighs. “Lascivious, rapacious, edacious, _horny_ , thirsty, slutty little—“

“I commend your use of synonyms, Mr. Harrison,” murmured Aziraphale. He made sure to cradle his demon’s arse before depositing him on the desk. “Top marks from me. I’ll even graciously excuse your rudeness.”

Crowley snickered. “You’re losing your edge, Cortese. Don’t you think that kind of behaviour is worthy of punishment?”

“It seems that we have very different teaching styles.” Their chests were pressed against each other now, Aziraphale settled snugly between Crowley’s long legs, and it was getting unbearably hot inside his jacket. It wouldn’t do to go full nude in the classroom right now— aroused as Aziraphale was, he still had standards, so he settled for undoing his bow tie and top buttons. 

Crowley whined, swatted his hands away. “No. Let me.” Long, cool fingers pulled the carefully-knotted bow free and loosened the collar. He took care to drag his fingertips over Aziraphale’s suit and waistcoat. The reward was a hitched breath and a significant bulge in the angel’s trousers.

Another kiss, heady and intoxicating. Crowley grinding against Aziraphale’s plush belly, the friction affecting his own erection. His arms and legs wrapping around the angel, snake round a tree. Or that big fuck-off serpent that encircled the universe in Norse mythology. Made sense. Aziraphale might as well be his whole world. Outside the classroom children moved around and teachers scurried back and forth but in here— in here—

“Closer,” sighed Aziraphale, tugging Crowley toward him by the lapels. Crisp fabric scrunched underneath his fingers. “Want you. Only you.”

“‘M right here. You’ve got me,” murmured Crowley as Aziraphale undid his tie in turn. The strip of maroon silk slithered to a heap on the floor. “Forty minutes, Angel.”

“We can be done in five. We can be done in ten,” Aziraphale hummed. “We can be done right now and pick up after classes, anywhere you wish.” 

“You wouldn’t,” snarled Crowley. “That’s four more hours. And we’ve already started.” The yellow eyes glared at him over the top of the sunglasses. “You’re the wicked one here, not I.”

“Shh, love. Of course not. I wouldn’t dream of it,” soothed Aziraphale, holding him close as if to comfort him from a nightmare. Crowley buried his face in the crook of the angel’s neck, inhaling his scent. “We have time.”

And then, as if the idea of so much time was only just now sinking in, Aziraphale moved forward, pinning Crowley on his back atop the desk. A pencil holder toppled and rolled over. Pens and pencils clattered to the floor. Crowley yelped, finding Aziraphale practically bent over him, that incredibly soft, soft body pressed onto his. Hands reached up to bury themselves to the knuckle in soft tufts of white-blond hair.For a split second, lost in another kiss, everything was perfect, then his angel flipped the script again. 

“Roll over.”

Oh, good Lord. 

And Crowley, bless him, _damn_ him, did as he was told. “Your classroom. Your rules.” 

He slipped off the desk, braced his forearms on the surface so that his backside pressed flush against Aziraphale’s crotch, the toes of his shiny shoes digging into the carpet beneath. Crowley couldn’t see him from this angle, but he was sure Aziraphale was wiggling with pleasure right now, actually _wiggling_ , the utter bastard.

“You’re a quick learner, Mr. Harrison.” And then those soft, impeccably manicured hands were reaching underneath him, fumbling to undo the belt and the fly, and easing down the tight trousers. Past the bony jut of hips, the delightful dimples in the small of the back, over the swell of taut buttocks.

“This is a nice suit. I really don’t want to ruin it, any of it,” murmured Aziraphale. “You, however...”

“Get on with it,” hissed Crowley, sunglasses askew and fists clenched on the tabletop.

“Impatient little thing.” But Aziraphale knew, oh how he knew, that his darling, devoted demon didn’t need very long to get nice and loose for him. A little demonic miracle and a constant, potent arousal for his angel worked well in conjunction for this very purpose.

Anyway, they only had about thirty-three minutes left. 

They had done this enough times now for Crowley to know exactly what Aziraphale looked like when he pressed into him. Fluttering gold-dust eyelids, wet pink lips unabashedly parted, a rosy flush in his cheeks. Crowley even dared to think that he would have like to have a picture of it framed somewhere convenient in his London flat where he could look upon it and gloat. Not such a bad thing then, am I, if I can make an angel feel this good. He writhed, bracing himself on his forearms and back arching just slightly, as Aziraphale thrust deeper, his own trousers pooled at his ankles.

“Touch me,” Crowley growled, almost entirely forgetting the _my classroom, my rules thing._ But Aziraphale was all too eager to do so. He shifted their position back just a little bit and reached underneath to take Crowley in his fist. Crowley lifted one leg just slightly to give him more room, grateful for that bit of attention. He lived for the heat and the hurt, for the moments when Aziraphale would dip his head and worry the skin of his neck with bruising kisses and soft little nips. _You could do anything you like. I can think of a few things._ Crowley had to stifle a laugh.

The desk shook with every thrust, each one increasing in intensity to match the steady strokes of Aziraphale’s skilled hand. Twenty-seven minutes. Aziraphale whined. “I’m so close, darling. Are you? Are you?”

“Yeah— yes, Angel, keep going, I—“

The raw, embarrassing sound ripped itself inelegantly from Crowley’s throat. He was coming, steadily, all over Aziraphale’s fist. Aziraphale kept going, moving around in the slick of it, the helpless jerk of Crowley’s wanton hips creating the friction needed to drive him off the edge. With a punched-out cry he reached his climax too, only moments later. He braced himself against Crowley’s backside for as long as he could hold, then inevitably relaxed, slumping down onto Crowley’s shoulder.

There was stillness, and there was softening, and there was nothing but heavy breathing and the rustle of half-removed clothes. There was the scratch of beard against beard, ginger on gold. Then there was a hasty miracle, cleaning up the mess they’d made, the evidence that something entirely scandalous had happened in Mr. Cortese’s English classroom.

Aziraphale sighed in weary contentment. “I think that will be all for today.” He slipped his strong arms around Crowley’s chest. “Class dismissed.”

Crowley chuckled. “Yeah. Consider me educated.”

He rolled over to let Aziraphale between his legs again, imperiously glancing down as he watched the angel re-dress him. Underwear, trousers, shirt buttons, tie, doing them all up so it was like it never happened. A part of Aziraphale mourned for that. But there would always be next time. 

All dressed now, Crowley slipped off the edge of the desk to do the same for Aziraphale. His hands lingered round the plushness of his waist as he clipped suspenders into place, making sure it all hung just right, and pulling the lapels of his jacket snugly over that broad chest. He even did Aziraphale’s bow tie— Aziraphale actually let him. He smiled when it came out perfect.

“Thank you,” whispered Aziraphale, taking Crowley’s hands when they finished and leaning in to kiss him again. And again. And again. 

“Ten minutes,” Crowley murmured against his lips.

“Yes,” Aziraphale replied softly. “Quite right.”

“Just enough time for a cup of tea.”

Aziraphale smiled again. Anything, _anything_ to be with his Crowley just a little while longer.

“I’d like that.”

They made for the door. Crowley felt something roll against his ankle. He reached down and picked it up.

“Ha.” It was the apple, knocked off the table in the middle of their tryst. Slightly battered but still in good shape— not unlike how Crowley was feeling after all that. Aziraphale took it and placed the apple back on the desk, right where Crowley had been bent over mere moments ago. Like it was saving the spot for him. 

At least, Crowley liked to think of it that way.

The door came unlocked at his touch, and he held it open for Aziraphale. “After you, Mr. Cortese.”

Aziraphale’s smile was one of secrets and quiet admirations. “Thank you, Mr. Harrison.”  
  



End file.
